


Trent's Guide to Twisting Tongues and Trapping Thoughts

by smallprotector



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Abuse, Brainwashing, Gen, Language, Torture, Trent Ikithon Being an Asshole, zemnian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-01
Updated: 2020-02-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:35:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22513351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smallprotector/pseuds/smallprotector
Summary: Caleb, Astrid, and Eodwulf find their shared language to be a source of comfort and happiness at Soltryce Academy. Trent Ikithon disapproves of such an easily exploitable weakness. He makes it his mission to get rid of any fondness they have for Zemnian- and anyone else who speaks it.
Comments: 7
Kudos: 56





	Trent's Guide to Twisting Tongues and Trapping Thoughts

Caleb’s parents had spoken Zemnian. The others in their town had all shared the same clipped accent when they spoke it, sharp and pointed where syllables were articulated as clearly as they were always meant to be. 

It had been a source of comfort and safety between Caleb and Astrid and Eodwulf, the language of whispered encouragements and cutting sarcastic remarks about the students who relentlessly mocked them. That first year at Solstryce Academy, the letters he wrote to his parents and the quiet snatched conversations with his two friends were the only time the words flowed the way they were supposed to, the way magic flowed from his mind past his fingers. 

And then Trent Ikithon picked them. Tent Ikithon plucked them from the mass of students, saw their worth, and gave them the chance to be so much more than their humble beginnings. He explained, the first time he heard their whispers, that ascending meant leaving behind, that becoming better meant excising old faults. 

They thought, then, that they understood, but they didn’t. They could never understand until they were poisoning, strangling, burning, the last ties to the familiar tongue ringing out in pleas into the dark night sky as they were transformed, refined, twisted (broken). 

He explained, so reasonably that Bren felt himself nodding along as the feeling of rightness slithered into his mind along with the words, that parts of what they were now were weak and flawed and needed to be cut away. They needed to start with the language, so unbecoming of servants of the empire that had united all those little regions like the Zemni fields. He promised to help them be better and they all vowed to do their best with fire in their eyes blinding them with a blaze of righteousness.

After only a few weeks of meals denied if any mutterings in Zemnian left their lips, of sleep interrupted when dreams made any of them cry out in their native tongue, they started to learn. 

And then Master Ikithon decided the lessons should be more practical. If he had planned it from the start or whether he had simply noticed and seized the opportunity- none of his students wanted to speculate. 

It started the first time he cut into one of them, and though Caleb did all he could to stay silent, when Ikithon pushed the green crystals into his flesh and the feeling of wrongness was inside of him, under his skin, where it should not be, where it was wrong, where it hurt- “Nein, bitte, nicht.”

The fingers working over his arm stilled, and if Caleb could have shrunk away from him, away from the restrains that held his limbs down, he would have. 

“Have you not learned you lesson yet? Well, I’ll just have to help you then. Recite the Theory of Evocations- in common. If you fail, this will be worse for you.” 

“The the-ah theory of evocation is, is, the teaching that allows u-us to call upon the power of- please, it hurts, bitte, Master, please.”

“Not even a minute. Well, we will work on that, my boy. You know why this has to be done, right?”

“Yes, Master Ikithon.”

“Remind me.” 

“We are more than our beginnings, and we must not let them drag us down. The Empire must be our first allegiance and all other loyalties are to serve the Empire, before all else. We must not allow sentimentality to rule us.”

“Very good. I knew you were listening- you always do listen so well. I’m proud of you for that, even if your obedience still needs to be improved upon.”

A hand reached out and tousled Caleb’s hair and he forced himself not to flinch. As the hand touched his scalp, it was as though he finally understood what Master Ikithon was trying to tell him- of course this was necessary, was right. Master Ikithon was always right, and he was being just and merciful teaching Caleb and his fellows so well even though they were nothing, less than dirt, without his guidance. 

“Thank you, Master Ikithon.” 

And so, the lessons continued. Eventually even hearing the language of their childhood spoken would cause the Blumenthal Chosen to flinch, before freezing to perfect stillness for a second in anticipation of correction. They learned to voice their pleas in Common for crumbs of mercy, and finally to stay silent under any amount of pain. Sometimes master Ikithon would even praise them after their gens had been placed if they had been quiet- not always, of course, and always with suggesting of improvement, but there was still nothing better than knowing they had made him proud. 

And then there were the traitors. Filthy, disgusting creatures- goblins that had killed an entire town’s children, orcs that ripped apart innocents just to hear them scream. Master Ikithon always explained in his calm, rational voice about all the evil they had done, reaching out with compassion to calm his students as he talked, and their faces twisted in horror at the unbelievably cruel acts he described in detail. 

So they obeyed. 

They cut, smashed fragile bones, crushed limbs, and ignored all the pleas of mercy, all the false words spewing from those mouths that wouldn’t stop lying (that had to be lying, they had to be, Master Ikithon had said so, no matter how detailed their description of events or how little sense the stories of their evil made, Master Ikithon had explained and so it was the truth).

After two goblins and the orc, they were ordered to do the same for a human. They had expected a spy, a foreigner, someone they could easily hate. The dirty ragged clothing and the wild look in the eye of the man chained to the interrogation hair did nothing to convince them otherwise. But then he started talking.

“I ich hab‘ nichts getan, ich weiß nicht warum ich hier bin ich hab‘ nichts falsch gemacht-“

Had it been mere months earlier, his pleading would have endeared him to his torturers, would have caused them to try and talk through the tangled story he would go on to tell them in ever more desperate attempts to convince them of his innocence. But it was not months ago, and the students had learned their lessons well. 

“Shut up.” 

He did, eventually. Afterwards, Master Ikithon came up to them and laid a hand on Astrid and Eodwulf’s shoulders. 

“You did so well today, I should never have doubted you. You see now what kind of scum speaks that language? Ah, now Astrid, my dear, don’t look so offended I know you would never use it again. You are so much better than that, so much better than the dirt you were plucked from. I’m proud of what you are growing into even if you used to be like that- thing.”

Caleb hunched over as Master Ikithon spoke, remembering the kindness of his father and how his mother had always made sure he had someone to explain everything he had learned in school that day to- but all those thoughts flew from his mind as Master Ikithon’s hand settled on his shoulder next. Of course he was right, of course this was better- his parents were good people, but they had not dedicated their lives to the Empire the same way Caleb was now. They just had to be brought around to being dedicated servants of the empire instead of complacent citizens. Caleb would teach them, he would be an example and they would be worthy of every honour he could bestow upon them.

“Now, you can all go and have your evening meal.”

“Thank you, Master Ikithon!” They said in unison, true gratitude suffusing their tone- it was rare they were not hungry, these days. 

The training continued. Finally, after gruelling weeks and months of learning how to inflict and resist pain, they were allowed a respite before graduation. A gift from Master Ikithon himself. 

It ended with screaming. For Caleb, the screaming lasted over a decade, even if he was far too well trained to make a sound. 

But then the screaming stopped. One day, he could hear his thoughts again. One day, he realised what he had done. The silence was worse. He understood what had happened once the screaming was silent.

He fled. He found himself hiding in the woods, begging in the outskirts of towns before retreating away from all those people. He could do nothing but think for hours at a time. 

He spent days speaking nothing but the traitor’s tongue, using it like dirt smeared on his face to show how bad he was now. At first because he hated himself, but with rising anger at all that Trent Ikithon had made him believe. Eventually he stopped, giving up trying to speak in a language no one else spoke. But he would never again let the monster dictate his thoughts, the very language they were thought in. 

Und eines Tages würde er dieses Monster vernichten.

**Author's Note:**

> The last line means: "And one day he would destroy that monster." 
> 
> What inspired this fanfiction: I was just thinking about how the modify memory spell only works if the implanted memory doesn't go against what a creature could believe, and how Trent would use anything he could against his students. 
> 
> Comments are still always appriciated! I'm also on tumblr as ohwormhere, come say hi :)


End file.
